


In Search of Lost Time

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Brief Mentions of Methos/Alexa, Forgetting, Home, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this prompt at comment-fic on lj:  Methos, He always assosiated the smell of baking bread with home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Search of Lost Time

He remembers it, once in a while. 

When he passes by a bakery or a restaurant, when he inhales the scent of baking bread.

He remembers someone. A man, short and muscular. He always smiled when Methos walked in. 

Methos remembers that there was a large stone in the fireplace, remembers the man slapping flat ovals of ground grain onto its surface. The unmistakable scent of dough heating, browning, transforming into comforting mouthfuls of food.

Methos remembers the building, a little. It was a tiny cabin, small as the average bathroom today, but it was a good structure for its time.

He remembers walking through the door, smelling bread on hot stones, and feeling like home.

He doesn't remember the man's name. But he's pretty sure he remembers loving him.

He thinks that the memory is from about 4000 years ago. But he's not sure.

Just like someday, if he lives long enough, he'll barely remember his life today. He might remember the way Duncan smiled at him when he get drunk. He might remember Joe looking down at his guitar, playing after a long hard day. He might remember Alexa's face when she saw the pyramids. Maybe he'd even remember Amanda's laugh. 

But even then, if enough time passed, he'd probably remember nothing of this century but a vague sense of companionship and the taste of cool beer, right from the fridge, on his lips. 

Still, Methos knew that sometimes a scent, a taste, a sound, could bring him back to another time. So even when he forgot all the names and even the faces, they would be there still. Memories, like ghosts, waiting to be rediscovered, prodded back into life as he walked past a bakery, as he bit into a meal that reminded him of a smile, of warm bodies in close quarters. Of a time he felt like he was home.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Proust.


End file.
